


The Socks

by Attasee



Series: Suits and Umberella’s [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anthea (Sherlock) is the Best PA, Clothes Porn, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, M/M, POV Anthea (Sherlock)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 16:29:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20312560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attasee/pseuds/Attasee
Summary: I love Anthea’s POV so I made my own. Enjoy.





	The Socks

Anthea Robinson knew something very wrong with her boss that morning. From the moment Mr Holmes had walked into the office he had seemed out of sorts and distracted with himself. For the first couple of hours she had put it down to it being a Monday. She had slowly overtime come to the conclusion that since Mr Holmes’ relationship with the Detective Inspector had moved onto the stage of cohabitation and that weekends for him now were now a ‘thing’, maybe he had some of the ‘Monday blues’.

This Monday he seemed a little different though, more unsettled and unbalanced. “Is everything okay Sir,” she had asked him upon delivery of his morning cup of earl grey. He had of course smiled cheerily and reported that it was. Anthea however knew different. She hadn’t been sailing on the ‘Good Ship Holmes’ for 10 years without picking up on some of his deducing skills.

She discredited any changes to his hair (none), his shaving routine (clean and precise) and footwear (sensible as always) that may have been causing him some discomfort, so by 12pm the only other option she was left with was the suit. Over a shared lunch Anthea noted he was wearing normal style, (although a more fitted design had been creeping in recently – she obviously approved), waistcoat, jacket, matching tie and handkerchief and it fitted him perfectly except…why…why had he had spent the morning adjusting the front of his trousers, not crossing his legs and hiding behind his desk?

“Sir, is everything okay?” Anthea finally asked on their return to his office following one of their daily walk around’s. She’d watched him battle with something throughout the whole 60 minutes it had taken them to move from one department to the next. The final pained expression on Mr Holmes’ face when Hugh from Communications had asked him to take the weight off his feet and get comfortable had nearly brought her to tears. There, she had watched him ‘discreetly’ tuck his feet under Hugh’s coffee table and take a death grip hold of the trouser material gathered at his knees. “It’s just that you seem to be a little troubled this morning. Is the Detective Inspector okay?”

“Everything is fine, why wouldn’t it be?”

Anthea smiled gently at him. _You silly man._ “No reason Sir…. you just seem a little… uncomfortable that is all.”

“I…I’m perfectly fine. Thank you for asking though. Just a little tired from the weekend. Now, the Signal Contract, where are we up too?”

And so the day went on. Mr Holmes stayed in his office, a permanent fixture there for the rest of the day. By 3pm however Anthea was her wits end. She was on her sixth trip into his office with tea and biscuits (something which she normally paid no mind doing) and she had had enough.

“I remember you scoffed at my suggestion of a private bathroom being installed in your office all those years ago, today however it has been justified.” She told him as she returned seconds later with a pile of paperwork for signing.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You have practically been rooted to your chair drinking tea all day and you are a man of a certain age. I maybe over stepping my mark here a little Sir, but normally you are up and down like a yo-yo. Some of the interns are wondering what is up with you, they haven’t seen your face all day. Usually you are up in their grill from 8am.”

“I….well..I. Up in their grill??”

“Yes and you know it. Don’t deny. The newest intake have likened you to a dragon but that’s besides the point. What on earth are you trying to hide?”

“I do not know what you mean. A dragon? Good lord who are we employing. Kindly go back to your desk, it is a number of hours yet before we depart for the day.”

Anthea shook her head. Not this time Mr Holmes. “What are you wearing that isn’t yours?” She asked, the penny finally dropping.

“Excuse me?”

“What are you wearing that isn’t yours? You have spent all day trying to hide something. At first I thought you may be in some discomfort with your underwear-.”

“ANTHEA!”

Anthea almost scoffed at him. “I am a woman Sir, a poor choice of underwear can make or break a female’s day. I assumed the same for men-.”

“Well-.”

“Then I realised,” she continued taking a step closer to his desk (this was her actual Miss Marple moment and she wasn’t going to waste it). “That it was not your undergarments doing the damage but something else, something more visible… Mr Holmes are you wearing Gregory’s socks rather than your own?”

For a brief moment Anthea thought her boss was going to implode, his face already beet red, now looked terribly pained and uncomfortable.

This time she wasn’t backing down though. “Well? We’ve known each other for a long time. I feel socks can be on the agenda,” she continued.

“I… well… oh dear.”

“Show me.”

“Do I have to?”

“Absolutely.”

Anthea watched as the confusion crossed over her boss’ face. He looked absolutely mortified by the thought of exposing whatever abomination was encasing his foot. She watched as his expression flipped from one of anguish to contentment back to anguish again a number of times.

“I fear,” he finally said with a sigh, his complexion glowing more with each second that passed, “some back ground data is required”

_Bingo_. “Do go on Sir.”

“This morning I was a little distracted.” _Oh you wonderful man Gregory Lestrade._ “…and what with us being busy at the previous two days we had both failed to take care of the laundry.

“Arh..”

“And in my haste I picked out… the wrong socks…”

“By wrong…”

“I feel it maybe easier to look, they are not my normal choice. As you are apparently aware I favour the more subdued variety of sock. You cannot go wrong with black in my opinion but… but… this… no,” Mr Holmes replied slowly indicating with a wave of his hand for her to move around the desk out of the way of prying eyes. He’d pulled up his trouser legs by the time she had reached him.

“Good lord, is that both of them-?”

“I do believe so. One on each foot”

“The Detective Inspector certainly likes his popular culture.”

“He does, do you know we have a picture…oh gosh… In my defence I did not have my glasses on and it was dark because Gregory was still in…oh dear… I met the Prime Minister wearing these.”

Anthea almost suppressed a giggle but failed. “I’m sure you are not the first,” she snorted. “And it does seem rather apt given the circumstances.”

“That I’m wearing Jean Luc Picard on one foot and James Tiberius Kirk on the other…?”

“Correct me if I am wrong but they were exemplary captains, known for their leadership, diplomacy and foresightedness and at the time you where dealing with a government whip getting far too big for his boots. The logical conclusion is therefore to commend Inspector Lestrade on his distraction techniques and hope that he owns more socks.”

“MISS ROBINSON!”

“I’m just saying…” she replied with a cackle.

“You are as bad as Gregory. His reaction was rather more brutal however. His latest communication asks me to “beam him up!”

_Oh good lord._ “Marvellous!” She replied with a shout, very pleased with herself. “And Mr Holmes… for what its worth…I love them. You should let Gregory distract a little more.” And with that (and before he could answer) she walked out of his office, closed the door and allowed the smile she was wearing to finally reach her ears.


End file.
